


Sun in Your Eyes

by SubwayWolf



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Clothed Hand Job, First Kiss, Hot Weather, Interrupted Kiss, M/M, Period-Typical Dialogue, Public Hand Jobs, Public Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a hot day in Verona, Benvolio Montague spends time with his friend Mercutio. Little does Benvolio know, Mercutio has some intimate plans for the two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not into this, then you're probably lying to yourself.

Slowly, beads of sweat travelled down the sides of Benvolio Montague’s temple. He tugged at his collar, hoping for cool air to enter his sweltering hot, pine green tunic, but no relief was in sight. The foul sun beat down on him mercilessly. Benvolio sulked onwards, obtained enough breath to speak, and sighed.

“I pray thee, Mercutio,” Benvolio whined exasperatedly, “Let’s retire!”

Mercutio, who had been walking in front of Benvolio, stopped in his tracks and spun around to look his friend in the eye. Mercutio glared disapprovingly, bringing a hand up to brush sweaty blonde locks out of his eyes.

Benvolio remained persistent. “The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, and if we meet, we shall not ‘scape a brawl.” He spoke the words drowsily, bringing a hand up to feel his underarms. To his dismay, his pits were drenched with sweat. He grimaced.

Mercutio held eye contact with his friend, gazing down upon him with fiery blue eyes. He stared with a look of feigned disappointment, as if Benvolio wasn’t one to retreat easily. “What say you to a little ‘roughing up’, friend?”

Benvolio looked at his blonde friend confusedly. “I…understand not, Mercutio.”

Mercutio trotted ahead of his comrade, skipping merrily even in the intense heat. He kicked up small tufts of dirt every time his feet made impact with the tan, dusty stone of the relatively unoccupied Verona plaza. Mercutio jumped atop a waist-high, stone curb. He stood before Benvolio with hands on his hips, posing proudly. The puzzled Montague stared up at him with a raised brow.

“You understand not? I shall inform you, then.” Mercutio jumped off the wall and landed on his feet. “Come. I will show thee what I mean.”

To Benvolio’s dismay, Mercutio took off running, leaving Montague in his dust. Benvolio sighed, and then took off after him. “O, I plead!” he whined, “Do not make haste, Mercutio!” His words affected nothing – Mercutio scampered on.

They loped through narrow alleyways, splashed in evaporating puddles, and encircled the mid-plaza fountain numerous times. Benvolio kept pace the entire while, but the spasmodic man in front was always a few steps ahead.

Mercifully, Mercutio came to an eventual stop. Benvolio halted as well, panting, his cheeks rosy with heat. Mercutio sat atop a short stone wall, running his fingers through his hair. 

Benvolio tiredly observed his surroundings, and when he realized where he was, he scoffed angrily. “We reside where we began!” he exclaimed.

“So we do,” said Mercutio with a cheeky grin. With pink-tinted cheeks, he chuckled slightly at Benvolio.

“I am annoyed, man, and rightfully so. If this ‘roughing up’ is similar to irritation, you do a fine job.” Benvolio, exhausted, took a seat on the wall beside Mercutio, catching more lost breath. He realized there was no use in scolding the Prince’s kinsman, for that would be the reaction Mercutio had been looking for. So Benvolio sat silently, fuming internally, and wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. It was midday, and the unforgiving sun beat down forcefully, covered by no clouds.

Mercutio put an arm around the weary man to the right of him. “Come, sweet, if this place satisfies you not, I will take thee elsewhere.”

“No!” Benvolio intervened quickly, “Here will serve!” He didn’t want to run anywhere else; he was far too tired. “Whatever thou will demonstrate sets here.”

Mercutio said nothing for a while, just looked at his friend. Benvolio stared back. He recognized the look in Mercutio’s eyes – the glistening squint he gave right before he would do something spectacular, such as recite a legendary joke or tell a brilliant tale or perform a wicked stunt. It was a formidable glare; one Benvolio had learned to fear, especially since this time the look was directed exclusively at him.

Mercutio grinned. “Now would be a fine time to cheer you up. You are here for a reason not yet known by you, and you sit so impatiently that I may postpone informing you for my own delight.” He tightened his grip around Benvolio’s shoulders, bringing the smaller man closer to him. “But worry not, I shall share.”

Mercutio removed his arm from Benvolio’s back and instead put his hands on each of Montague’s shoulders, clutching his green tunic gently. “I shall share my justification for brining thee to this fair Verona square. I shall share my reasoning behind the refusal to leave this misr’ble heat.” Mercutio’s hands made their way upwards to Benvolio’s cheeks, cupping his face in his hands. Mercutio smiled. “Your eyes, both dull grey and beauteous blue. The hue of all Montagues?”

“Might be so.” Benvolio’s voice was shaky because of Mercutio’s invasive touch. He was not sure of his family’s signature eye color.

Mercutio didn’t seem to be bothered by not receiving an answer. He brushed his thumbs gently over his friend’s flushed cheeks. He leant close to Benvolio so their lips were a breath apart. Mercutio hummed, “Let us exchange warm breaths and sweetened tastes.”

Mercutio eased Benvolio’s face to his own, tugging on his hair gently as he kissed him. Benvolio inhaled deeply in alarm, but let the breath out slowly, humming against Mercutio’s soft lips and becoming lost in his scent. Montague’s eyes fell closed as he sunk into lust, his heart beating rapidly as Mercutio sucked gently on his lips.

Benvolio had never kissed anyone before, let alone another man, so this was new for him. But he loved it so much; Mercutio was wonderfully passionate, sweet-tasting, and warm. He massaged the back of Benvolio’s neck with one hand and fingered through his black hair with the other. 

The happy hums the two produced harmonized with each other and the resulting tune was marvelous. Benvolio brought his hands up to Mercutio’s chest, gently gripping his purple tunic and pulling him even closer.

But unfortunately, fear, as it always does, rose in Benvolio’s stomach and paranoia took place of lust. He wriggled out of Mercutio’s grasp and pushed him away, breaking the kiss. Mercutio stared at him, puzzled, his lips still puckered and eyes half-closed.

“We kiss here in the public haunt of men,” Benvolio said, peering into Mercutio’s blue eyes. “Either we withdraw unto some private place and continue this intimacy, or else depart. Here, all eyes gaze on us.”

Mercutio cracked a grin. His cheeks were rosy and his lips pink from overwork. “Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.”

Benvolio didn’t protest when Mercutio leaned in to kiss him again. Montague proceeded in putting his arms around Mercutio’s thin waist, positioning his hands accordingly in case he wanted to stop again. But this problem soon went out the window because Benvolio didn’t want to stop. 

Montague’s stomach tickled with excitement as Mercutio sucked on his lower lip, shifted to the top lip, and then kissed both of them at once. The witty blonde tasted as sweet as he promised he would. The infrequent moans he hummed against Benvolio’s lips were a good way for Montague to know he was doing it right. Mindlessly, Mercutio multi-tasked and twirled his partner’s black locks around his fingers as they kissed, making the blushing Montague’s hair even curlier than it naturally was.

Suddenly, in the near distance, a familiar laugh was heard; an evil, deep snicker that echoed through the relatively empty Verona court, startling the plaza’s inhabitants and sending a shiver down Benvolio’s spine. Benvolio recognized the laugh immediately and reacted by tensing up, but Mercutio didn’t seem to notice or care. To confirm his suspicion on the assailant, Montague opened an eye to glance over and see if he was correct in his prediction. He was.

There stood the proud cousin of Capulet: Tybalt – his jaw set strong and his black eyes shimmering slightly from amusement. He was surrounded by various servants and kinsman, who laughed along with him, but not as loudly or as distinguishably. The Capulets were a ways away and hadn’t seen the pair quite yet, but something told Benvolio that they were looking for him.

Alarmed, Benvolio pushed Mercutio away yet again. “By my head,” Montague said breathlessly, unable to struggle as Mercutio placed butterfly kisses up the length of his neck. “Here come the Capulets.” He inadvertently threw his head back, allowing Mercutio more room to work his magic.

“By my heel, I care not,” Mercutio said roughly, speaking quickly so he could return to pleasing the frantic Montague. Mercutio rested his lips on the side of Benvolio’s neck, and felt a pulse so rapid that it could be sensed through Montague’s soft skin. It was unclear whether this was the result of fear or sexual excitement. 

To calm Benvolio, Mercutio returned to the soft lips of the black-haired man, bringing a hand up to the back of his head to tilt him into an adequate position. Mercutio’s hand was then put against Benvolio’s face, and here he stroked it gently, brushing the flushed cheeks with the back of his fingers. He balanced this out by kissing him harder than before, pressing their lips together more forcefully. This elevated Benvolio’s heart rate even more, but now for a reason not involving Tybalt.

But Benvolio’s mind was soon shifted back to reality when he heard that laugh again, this time closer. Mercutio had to have heard it too, but it didn’t slow him down. In fact, the zealous blonde progressed, bringing his hands to Benvolio’s chest and exploring it lustily. Montague moaned helplessly as those gentle hands travelled even further downwards, grazing across his hips and then slowly progressing towards his inner thigh.

Tybalt found the pair and stood before them with his arms folded, watching the two. He cleared his throat, but wasn’t acknowledged. Frustrated, the snake-eyed Capulet chose to speak. “Gentlemen,” he said forcefully, trying to gain their attention. 

Mercutio and Benvolio were in a different world. Benvolio was consciously aware of Tybalt’s presence, but Mercutio didn’t seem to be. He ignored the Prince of Cats and continued about his business.

Growing frustrated, Tybalt pursued. “Good e’en,” he said even more sternly, but remained unnoticed. His fists clenched tightly.

Benvolio flushed even redder in the cheeks now that he knew he was being watched. He was helpless, however, to halt the sinful acts being committed on him by the ever lustful Mercutio.

Tybalt stood his ground. Being ignored must have been a new thing for him, and he was obviously offended by it. Capulet tried again. “A word with one of you,” he suggested insistently.

Mercutio’s hands slid up the inside of Montague’s thighs, slowly making their way towards Benvolio’s pulsating privates. When Mercutio finally got his hand on Benvolio’s crotch, Montague felt blood rushing downwards. The two continued to passionately kiss, rarely stopping for air, never ceasing to make the occasional, spontaneous hum.

Tybalt obviously couldn’t take a hint, and pursued. “Mercutio,” he said firmly, through clenched teeth. “Thou consortest with Romeo?” The contentious Capulet wanted to know where the lovesick son of Montague was, for whatever reason. Mercutio neither knew nor cared, and either way he wasn’t going to pause and answer.

Mercutio’s idle hand, which rested between his partner’s legs, began to work its magic. Through the thin fabric of Montague’s trousers, Mercutio pawed for Benvolio’s testes, which he quickly found and fondled them gently in his hand. 

Benvolio was alarmed at the touch and froze, forgetting to kiss his partner, who continued nonetheless. The friction of the trouser fabric was unusually comforting, and the warmth of Mercutio’s fingers chafing against the cloth to touch him was, understandably, immensely arousing.

Benvolio’s cheeks lost their pink tint as any excess blood flooded downwards to his now not-so-private area. His penis rose, swelling double in size; throbbing uncomfortably and protruding prominently through his trousers. Mercutio grinned against Benvolio’s lips, bringing his hand up from his undercarriage and resting it atop Montague’s pitched tent.

Unaccustomed with the sultry touch, Benvolio’s eyes shot open, and he found himself staring at the blonde’s closed eyelids. His attention then turned to the tireless Tybalt, who still stood before them, expecting an answer. Benvolio pulled away from Mercutio to deal with the Capulet. Montague glared sharply at Tybalt, extending an arm and flicking his wrist outwards, a silent yet frantic suggestion for Capulet to be on his way.

Tybalt huffed in annoyance, but finally got the message. He sulked away, casually kicking up dust as he walked. He was followed out of the Verona square by his kinsman and servants, their footsteps echoing through the plaza and ultimately fading completely. Benvolio and Mercutio were left alone.

Satisfied, Benvolio turned to press his lips against those of the prince’s kinsman, and Mercutio gratefully accepted. Montague shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the hard length between his legs. Benvolio moaned softly, hoping Mercutio would do something, anything to ease his pain. Mercifully, he did.

To Benvolio’s delight, Mercutio took the idle hand residing on his crotch and began to rub the head of his penis through the fabric of his trousers. Luckily, the fabric was thin and flimsy, so Benvolio could feel all effects of Mercutio’s gentle touch.

The much-needed attention was pleasantly arousing. Benvolio hummed happily so Mercutio knew he was doing well. Mercutio brushed his fingers up Benvolio’s shaft and then ran his thumb over the head. He then got a gentle grip around it and gave it a short series of rapid tugs. Benvolio went breathless, eyes turning back, forgetting again how to kiss and breathe.

And then Mercutio stopped.

He took his hands off of Benvolio and pulled his lips away. He sat patiently beside him as if nothing even happened.

Benvolio stared at him with wide eyes, amazed at what was happening. He was unsure if an abrupt stop was normal in sexual relations or if Mercutio was playing another joke on him.

But this confusion soon became paranoia, as usual. “Mercutio…” Benvolio began, examining the breathless, slouched posture of his impromptu lover, “Have I done something wrong?” 

Mercutio shook his head slowly, slightly out of breath. His brow was furrowed into an aggravated crease, as if he was upset with Benvolio, or with himself. “The fault is not yours, my sweet,” he said with a sigh, “It is mine.”

“I assure you, you were not at fault!” Benvolio couldn’t comprehend how Mercutio could have been at fault in any way, for he was the epitome of perfection and satisfaction; he had done no wrong. “Law have my head if you were anything besides flawless,” Montague assured him.

Mercutio breathed, “My fault was not of action.” He spoke so softly, Benvolio could barely hear the whispers that escaped his pink lips.

“Then what of?” Lack of recent attention caused Benvolio’s penis to partially soften back to normal.

“Location!” Mercutio’s voice was raised, and he shouted at Benvolio with a heated exasperation. “Here shan’t suffice!” He shook his head at the black-haired boy, glaring at him with an exaggerated squint which implied Benvolio was supposed to understand what he meant.

Benvolio was as confused as ever, and even more so when he noticed, behind the rather obviously feigned irritation, was that damned look in Mercutio’s eyes again. “Suffice for what?” he asked.

“A stone wall will not work!” he said with testiness in his voice, gesturing to the wall they sat upon. “I hope thou would rather lie with me upon a bed than atop a wall of stones, yes?”

Benvolio said nothing. His sore lips parted as he searched for a reply but found none. Blood rose back to his face again, and his cheeks reddened. A grin upturned the corners of Mercutio’s mouth, and all fabricated frustration disappeared. That must have been the reaction he was looking for. 

Mercutio leapt to his feet and stood proudly before Benvolio. “Blushing boy, let us make haste. Romeo is occupied with Tybalt and would not mind if we chose his bed as host for an intimate game or two. Onwards, lover!” With that, Mercutio took off running in powerful strides, northwards toward the house of Montague.

Without hesitation, the speechless Benvolio took off after him, and despite the dreaded heat, pursued Mercutio all the way home.


End file.
